O' cometh the darkest night of a mournful July, screaming banshee.
Long lived desire to rape the witch who entailed desire.
Blood curdling scream echo -- echo walls rupture as death becomes day.
Ce qui si la vie est la mort?
One question oen asks, for I am not god.
Sins of eternity, driving the unforsaken chariots to the ends of the known universe.
Standing o'er on cliffs, hands out stretched, chanting ones fate its own futrue.
Childe I called my sire for he is not the one to be called the life, chilling cold glass of water, droplets run -- sweet lips taste.
Licking desperately at the sap that laid before, undying birth ludicrous speed of night
Holding the stems of day within reach, lapping the trickles of sweat dribbling, tickling the natures button.
Mind state unflustered, crouching dragon within shadows of insane nightmares.
Controlled man -- controlled womanizing with unrelented slaps of immeasurable pain.
Sipping the life from the brain, deer make dance, green light red.
Oh what a shameful day -- night has become with clouded frolikes, forsaken the unruly Ventrue.
Death become night and all is forgotten,
Slapping wrists, sippin toads on floats of ecstacy,
Hush, I feel the eversoft rain trickling down sultry lines of smooth skin.
Lick me, for I have been the worst, lick me and die I shall for the night has ended with the Philosophical I upon time and space .
